Still Loving Those Rocks

               Rock is not her most favorite genre of music, but she LOVES the minerals that nature forms for her collection.  My Aunt Eloise had given her a sack of rocks when Jaime was three.  I know.  That seems like an odd gift, but Jaime truly loved them and would spend hours sorting them by color, size, her favorites, and whatever other grouping she could think of.

         After we had moved to West Valley Jaime had gone next door to assist the neighbor with some light chores and came home with a large jar full of rocks – which again she separated into piles.  I remember taking several pictures of her enjoying her treasures which she had strewn across the couch.  This is the only pic I can find and she's not in it

         I did not ask her to pose for this picture but took it as it triggers fond memories.  Her love for rocks may not be exactly the same.  Now she likes to paint them and hide them.  She still treats them as treasures. She will always love rocks.

Trading Treasures and Wheelin-Dealin’

Randy has always been charismatic.  Often he has conned others out of favors based on his charm.  One time in fifth grade, someone dared him to wear a dress onto the playground.  Of course Randy needed incentive and said he’d do it for five dollars. 

Randy wore the dress for the entire recess – but there had been a commotion about it.  Roland was called in and learned all what was involved.  Randy ended up having to give back the money on Roland’s orders.

When the boys were older, we had a family home evening on the talents.  To each boy we gave 20 dollars and told them to go multiply. 

Randy purchased 20 candles the following day.  He took his 20 candles from door to door and sold his one dollar candles for three dollars each.  And he would use his profits to purchase more candles until he had doubled his money and had made 40 dollars with the twenty.

Jenna was a cute baby.  People would melt whenever she would smile.  Many thought she was so cute, they would give her money – mostly elderly looking grandparents, but there had been a few that were obviously not old enough to be grandparents.  I remember hoping that it wouldn’t last – as it somehow felt inappropriate when she became older. 

Like Randy, she has charm and charisma and is somewhat of a wheeler dealer.

My Jenna left the house with a bag of rocks – most of them had been given to her several years ago by the neighbor next door.  She came home with a bag of toys.  Some surprised me.  In her collection were two bracelets, a bendy flower, a care bear, two plastic animals and a Barbie.  She had gotten the care bear for her cousin, Anna.  But why on earth would she want a Barbie?  We had given those up because she never really enjoyed playing with him.  She said she got it so she would “fit in” with her seven year old friends.

The thing I have been most surprised about is how much time she has spent playing with Barbie and combing out Barbie’s hair.  And this morning she brushed her own hair.

Okay, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?  Jenna’s favorite Disney princess is Merida.  Merida has unkempt hair – or so it seems.  Merida is not typical of girly stereotype.  She admires Merida for not giving into pressure.  And there she is on the couch combing her Barbie and setting her down so that they can both watch television together.  Interesting.

Before Clue, There was Mr. Ree

         I don’t know how old I was when Grandma showed us the game Mr. Ree.  I vaguely remember seeing the game.  I don’t know if my cousins and I attempted to play it – I think we did, but soon became bored with it.  We didn’t really understand what we were supposed to do.

         As I have researched the Internet to learn if there were really any similarities between Mr. Ree and Clue,  Mr. Ree sounds like it may have been more challenging or fun to play – but I could be wrong.  I just remember thinking the layout of the Mr. Ree board was similar to the mansion set for clue.

Of course there are different versions of each game – changing design and pieces every decade or so for whatever reason. 

This is what I remember from my childhood:

  

Recently my son, Tony, and his wife gave me a new addition of clue which comes with two crime scenes.

Mommy, Take My Picture!

She seemed fascinated

with the toilet.  I thought

she’d train early. 

She didn’t.

She took off

after she turned one. 

How cool to

move herself

with her feet, to go

from room to room. 

To explore. 

                                                      She collected balls and rocks.

Whenever we’d go

out walking she would climb

on fire hydrants and

pick up anything

she found in her path. 

She loved roly-polys. 

They resembled small balls. 

She did attempt

to put one in her mouth.

                                            She collected whatever she could carry.

She started preschool

when she was three. 

We’d walk to school. 

She would balance

on the way, walking over walls

as though she was on a tightrope. 

I would entertain her

with imitations of circus music

and emcee her “daring moves”

and I would take her picture

She dawdled

as she explored every yard

between our house and the school. 

                                                    She collected rocks and pinecones.

She loved each season

and enthusiastically greeted

anything that was new. 

The wind,

crunching leaves,

sleds,

snow banks,

blossoms,

snails

 fascinated with

every part of nature. 

                                                    She collected rocks and leaves.

Today she dawdles

much as she did when

she was three.  She explores

whatever God has created. 

She climbs trees and

snow banks and continues

to make snow angels. 

She continues to

balance on walls as she did

when she was three

and asks for me to make the sounds

of the circus as she performs

on her “tightrope” and ask

"Mommy, Will you take my picture?"

                                             She collects Pokémon cards and rocks

She will stand on top of

 rocks and stumps and ask me

to take her picture

lying on balls and

fire hydrants still exploring

as she had when

she was three

                                                        She now gives her rocks faces.

Obsession for Pokemon: Really?

Shortly after Roland and I became engaged, he wrote me a mushy letter filled with sentiment and quotes.  One of the lines he had written was: “. . . as Pikachu say, “I choose you””

I had absolutely no clue what that even meant.  Pikachu?  I figured it must be a quote from some movie I hadn’t seen.  Not only had I never seen Pokemon, I had never even heard of it.

  

According to what I’ve read (or rather my understanding of what I’ve read) Pokemon started out as a video game before it became an animated cartoon that somehow made its way into the boys hearts.  The three knew all the Pokemon characters by name and site.  At least one of the three boys seemed obsessed.

I don’t know where Roland may have found the time to sit down with his boys and learn the names of each character and whatever quotes.  But Pokemon has done absolutely nothing for me.  And after learning somewhat of its origin and based on a video game I have a better understanding on why it’s never appealed to me.

I remember my eldest checking out the animated series from the library and asking Jenna to sit down and watch them with him.  She’d take him up on it, but would stare at the television and then look at him with curious eyes – are you serious?  You would rather watch this than Oobi or Oswald? Where is this going? Why do you find this entertaining?

After a while she would become bored and either leave or create stories in her head and pretend she was watching just to be with her oldest brother.  When he asked her if she liked it, she would say, “It’s Okay” That was being kind.

Biff would continue to share his love of Pokemon, but she was never really interested – until lately.  I am quite floored by her behavior.  But I know my daughter.  I know it is only a phase and will get old within months (at least that is my prediction)

Apparently one of her friends (a boy) gave her a Pokémon card and then another boy gave her three more.  Suddenly boys were interested in her (suddenly?  Boys have been after her since before pre-school.  I don’t know why she hadn’t noticed it before) and so now she’s on this big Pokemon kick collecting and trading cards and learning the names of all the characters (wish there were math problem included on each card – have her memorize the times tables or division while she’s at it) 

She continues to show me the cards with great enthusiasm and I return with fake enthusiasm – trying to be excited for her but finding in hard to care because I really don’t.  Nor do I plan on memorizing the names or how much they’re worth, etc.  But if she will take care of them and treasure them I guess it’s a start.

Where's My Purse?

My mom once told me that the first purse that she ever owned was red and had a picture of a cow.  She was five.

I don't know if that's actually when she became obsessed with having a purse with her at all times.  But they seemed to be a part of her when I was growing up.  Back then she had several purses – assorted shapes and colors.  I don’t know how often she changed them.  I know she went through many.

As a child, I don’t think I paid attention to the weight of mom’s purse, but as an adult, I realized she was often toting around the equivalence of a bowling ball – I kid you not.  And some of the heaviest purses were also the smallest ones that she owned.

Okay, maybe as a mom it does seem necessary to lug around an extra case of bandages, a pocket knife, a sewing kit, a comb, 40 pens (only two of them worked) , a fork, and even a hot dog – because you just never know.  Much of the weight was due to the pound and a half of keys that she carried, not to mention the twenty dollars worth of tips usually all in quarters and pennies.

 

A heavy purse that constantly gained weight – at a rather rapid rate.  Many purses became garbage due to the overloaded abuse of items.  And then she would go through her closet to retrieve one she hadn’t used in a while – do a thorough cleaning as she transferred over and gradually add weight to it all over again.

There are a few posts on my blog in which I refer to mom and Alice, the only two residents that always have her purse in hand.  I would think that mom could give it up by now.  But it’s a part of her.  But she might as well just tote around a bowling bag – seriously.  Why in the world would it need to be that heavy at assisted living?  She doesn’t have/need keys or change anymore.  This afternoon I learned that my mom is a kleptomaniac (one of the stages of her dementia)
.  
As she was asleep at the hospital, I decided it would be a good time to clean out her purse. I found a large set of keys.  I knew they weren't hers.  There was a door stop and one of Harold’s picks (which the aide on duty says he never uses anyway – well, yeah – if it’s in mom’s purse I don’t imagine he does have opportunity to use it) a DVD of Fiddler on the Roof (amazingly not broken or scratched) 4 tubes of lipstick, an unused tube of toothpaste (still in the box) four latex gloves, monthly newsletters, the pictures that she had removed when she moved in (three of them bent) one toy maraca, I think a whistle, three coin purses, two pairs of glasses, three plastic spoons (one was wrapped) 4 packages of tissue – not to mention all the many wadded up tissues that were in each compartment, two scarves (one was a long one for winter), the cell phone we had disconnected before she went into assisted living and several barrettes, 


 




It turns out the keys belonged to one of the sisters who comes to helps out with the Relief Society activity that is offered to the residence once a month.  I remember she had the cell phone that belonged to maintenance for abut three days.  I turned that in too.  Oh, mom!

Wesley Richards

Wesley walks

from yard to yard

collecting rocks

and sticks

and stores them

in the garage

of his parents’ house. 

Wesley is

their only child.

Wesley takes medication

for his ADHD.

It takes away

any appetite

that is necessary

for growth. 

Wesley is thin

like the twigs he finds. 

I think a heavy wind

could blow him away.

He and Jenna have

collected morning glories

and have thrown them

into the pool. 

But no worries –

they don’t plan to leave

them there.  They just

want to see how cool

they look floating

upon the water

When it is time for Wesley to go home,

Jenna invites herself to go with him  

                                                                            kfralc

Scrapbook Art: HECTOR THE COLLECTOR by Shel Silverstein

Hector the Collector

Collected bits of string,

Collected dolls with broken heads

And rusty bells that would not ring.

Pieces out of picture puzzles,

Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,

Twists of wires, worn-out tires,

Paper bags and broken bricks.

Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,

Gatlin’ guns that wouldn’t shoot,

Leaky boats that wouldn’t float

And stopped-up horns that wouldn’t toot.

Butter knives that had no handles,

Copper keys that fit no locks,

Rings that were too small for fingers,

Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.

Worn-out belts that had no buckles,

‘Lectric trains that had no tracks,

Airplane models, broken bottles,

Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.

Hector the Collector

Loved these things with all his soul‹

Loved them more than shining diamonds,

Loved them more than glistenin’ gold.

Hector called to all the people,

“Come and share my treasure trunk!”

And all the silly sightless people

Came and looked…and called it junk.

                                                                                                  Shel Silverstein

I used to collect all of these things for my scrapbook.
Used to collect.  Thought it was necessary.
How happy I am to say I really don't need it -
not that I ever did
                                                                           kfralc

The Prettiest Necklace of All

          Sunny was helping Ellen and Nate with cleaning mom’s house.  She set aside a box of necklaces for Jenna to go through. 

          There’s a bunch of seashell leis.  I think Grandma Mary must have picked a couple up each time she went on a cruise.  Mom had purchased some as well, but I think the majority came from her mom.

          Jenna had once asked for a “necklace making kit” and mom had given her one for her birthday.  And Jenna chose a special rainbow lace full of beads to give to grandma in return.  And my mom wore them proudly – at least that one day.  It was in the box among the many pieces of jewelry that remained. 

          As Jenna was sorting through her latest “treasures” she asked which of all the necklaces my favorite was.

          “Well, this one, of course.” I said as I held up the rainbow shoelace full of beads.

          “Then you can have it,” Jenna beamed.

          Two days later it went missing from my dresser.  I found it dangling around Jenna’s neck.  I asked if she was borrowing my necklace.  She said that she decided she wanted to keep it and I could choose another.  I think we can share.  I like sharing her treasures because of her excitement.